Good Morning Harry
by luvscharlie
Summary: If you run around with the likes of Charlie Weasley, there are always consequences. Harry/Draco, Harry/Surprise Character


_Good Morning, Harry_ by Luvscharlie

Harry rolled over in the bed, and grasped his head. The bloody thing may well come off at any minute, and from the way it was hurting, it just might well be a blessing. His only sense of relief was that when he cracked open an eye, he was staring at his own hideous wallpaper. At least he hadn't woken up in someone else's bed. That was always a concern when one went out carousing with Charlie Weasley. You never knew where you'd wake up the next morning… or with whom.

Harry spent a good deal of time with Charlie these days, despite the disapproving tongue clicking noises Hermione made every time she heard him mention that he was heading out to a pub to meet up with Charlie for drinks and… erm, whatever. Hermione's blatant disapproval was perhaps what made Ron go the extra mile to be all the more accepting.

Gay pubs made Ron uncomfortable, though bless him, he had attempted to be supportive when Harry'd come out. He took his position as "best friend" seriously. He'd put on his game face and insisted (as much to himself as to those around him) that he _could_ do this, as he'd trotted out with Harry for a night on the town. If it made Harry happy, then he was happy for Harry… until the first wizard had backed him into a corner and proceeded to kiss and grope him. There'd been no more volunteering to go "out" with Harry after that. Best friend or no; there were limitations to what Ron Weasley would do.

So, Harry had been glad to have Charlie's company. Not that Charlie and he particularly swung the same way—it was more like Charlie swung both ways, and probably other ways that Harry had no idea existed. Ignorance was, in fact, sometimes a blissful thing. If there was a line in the sand, Charlie was the first one across it, and if there was a wizard to fuck, well, Charlie was the first one to do that too.

The last time he'd gone out with Charlie had been the worst. Harry had woke up the next morning in a bed he didn't recognise and rolled over to find himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy—or perhaps skin-to-skin was more accurate, seeing as how they were both deficient in the clothing department. There had not been an _Obliviate_ in the wizarding world strong enough to erase that memory—and trust him—he'd put up a good search for a wizard or witch who might be able to perform one. Even Hermione, who was quite an efficient obliviator, had been unable to erase that soiled spot from Harry's brain, though he doubted she'd tried very hard. Hermione may well have thought it was as much as Harry deserved for getting pissed and fucking someone, then not remembering it the next morning.

His splitting head brought him out of his reverie, and he grabbed it in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. Yes, thank Merlin for small favours. This morning he'd woken up at home—starkers, but at home.

He reached across the bed for the bedside table that always held his glasses and his hand bumped something warm and undeniably human.

_Well, fuck._ He'd been so relieved to wake up at home, he really hadn't pondered the possibility that he'd brought someone with him.

Now was the tricky part. Should he put on his glasses and see who was beside him or roll over and hope they'd leave before he was none the wiser as to their identity? After that whole Draco Malfoy incident, he seriously considered the latter option.

Harry raised his head tentatively, and as the moments passed he grew ever more curious as to who shared his bed. He gasped when he noted the freckled arm and the ginger hair peeking out from beneath the linens. Unfortunately, that was all he could see. He'd secretly had a crush on Charlie Weasley for as long as he could remember. Was it possible that he had shared the night with his long-time crush?

He reached for his glasses, made contact with the spectacles and put them on his face for a better look. He was quite surprised when the room remained blurry. He pulled the specs back off and cleaned them with the quilt, and put them back on his face—still blurry.

"I don't believe those belong to you, Harry," said a voice Harry recognised all too well.

_Percy Weasley_. The gods were not smiling upon him.

Fin.

_A/N: Originally written for a friend's birthday on Live Journal _


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